Our Story
by KayLyn666
Summary: When Brooke Winston's aunt had enough and finally shipped her off to Tulsa once and for good, she found herself fitting in better with her twin, Dally's friends better than she expected. It wasn't until late one autumn that her life changed forever, leaving her feeling wounded, alone, and totally deserted. This is her story, our story, the story of the Greaser who made her mark.


**Summary : Brookelyn Winston wasn't your average teenager. Or maybe she was, once upon a time. But having been passed back and forth between her father in Tulsa and her aunt in New York City, she found herself struggling to find her place. Living in her twins shadow didn't help matters any. When her aunt had enough and finally shipped her off to Tulsa once and for good, Brooke found herself fitting in better than she expected among the gang her brother had learned to call family. It wasn't until late one autumn that her life changed forever, leaving her feeling wounded, alone, and totally deserted. This is her story, our story, the story of the Greaser who made her mark. **

_Reviews are greatly appreciated! I've been out of the writing scene for a while and figured it was time to come back with a new story!_

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"Brooklyn Mariah Winston, get your scrawny ass in here this instant!" my aunt, Gloria, hollered from the kitchen. I groaned. I knew what all her fuss was about. For the fifth time since she shipped Dallas back to Oklahoma the second time, I was just now getting out of jail. This time for being mixed up in a "wrong place, wrong time" thing.

"Gloria, I'm exhausted, please, just lay off," I shouted, trying to weave through the pile of trash that littered the living room floor. And my mother had called me messy.

"Don't make me call you twice!" her angry tone bellowed through the paper thin walls of our two bedroom New York City flat.

"Aw, shoot, Gloria, it ain't a big deal!" I growled, storming into the kitchen, to find her glaring at me something fierce.

"I've had it up to here with you, young lady. This kind of nonsense might fly with your father, but it sure as sin doesn't fly with me," she scolded. "I've packed your things, you're off to Tulsa this morning."

"You've got to be kidding me," I groaned. My father and I didn't exactly see eye to eye. Actually, his fists normally connected with my face before I had a chance to explain myself, regardless of the situation. That was why I was still in the city with my crazy aunt, instead of running the streets in Tulsa with my twin brother.

"I kid you not, Brooklyn Mariah, now, scat, you've done nothing but cause me trouble since the day you came into this world!"

"Jeez, real kind words coming from my own flesh and blood!" I spat. No wonder Dallas hated this woman. She was almost as heartless as our old man.

"Enough from you, young lady! Wait on the porch, a cab will be here shortly to retrieve you," she said, practically throwing my bag at me.

"And my dog?" I asked, almost childishly. Bullet was my pride and joy, the last gift my mother had given me before she died. The little ball of mischief was one of the few reasons I agreed to stay in New York for all that time.

"Well I'll say, that dog is free to go with you. I'm tired of its fleas," she said almost comically.

"My dog ain't the one bringin' in the fleas, Gloria. Maybe if you stopped feeding the damn strays," I spat back angrily. As if on cue, a cat came flying into the kitchen, its fur all fluffed up, the familiar yapping of my little terrier mix ringing after it. I scooped up the dog before my aunt could kick it, grateful that the tiny black dog was safe in my arms. I grabbed my old, ratty leather jacket and my small bag of belongings off the floor and headed out to sit on the front steps of our porch. I lit a cigarette as Bullet ran circles around the small patch of grass we called a yard. We lived in a rough side of town. I could vaguely hear the sounds of police sirens and people arguing. In the distance, I head a single gunshot. All of us on the streets knew what that meant. Someone owned someone and didn't pay up.

The cab took almost an hour to show up, but once it did, I could tell the driver wasn't pleased about having to drive through the sketchy neighborhood to get to me to train station. I sat quietly in the back seat, Bullet tucked under my arm. The little dog was the only friend I had anymore. After Jimmy got shot and Jaz got arrested on murder charges.

"Where ya headin'?" the driver asked me as we drew closer to the station.

"Tulsa," I said with a shrug. "To see my folks."

"Really? Well, sure is a big change from the city," he said pleasantly. My aunt must have promised him a big payoff.

"Maybe," I nodded. I knew it wasn't. Sure, they probably didn't have gun fights every night or get caught up in murders that they had nothing to do with, and I was certain the drugs were far kinder that far west, but it wasn't all that different. Greasers were still greasers, socials were still socials, or socs as we called 'em, and hoods were still hoods. It didn't matter where you went, the life, the facts, they followed you.

I didn't say anything for the remainder of the drive. I didn't say anything as I boarded the train and I didn't say anything to anyone until we were in Tulsa late the next afternoon. It didn't surprise me that Gloria hadn't called ahead. No. She'd hoped I'd be stuck walking. But unlike my aunt, I wasn't that stupid.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and pulled Bullet into my arms before heading towards the nearest payphone. I pulled a dime out of my pocket, praying that the number was still the same. Dallas had given it to me a few months prior, just in case. Just in case of what, dear brother of mine? Just in case Gloria got fed up and kicked me out? In case I was doing some hard time for a change? In case of what?

I sighed and dialed the number, waiting patiently for someone to pick up on the other end.

"'ello?" a voice I didn't know answered.

"Is Winston there?" I asked, keeping my voice as steady as possible. A group of Socs were watching me from a few feet away and I was growing increasingly uncomfortable.

"What's it to ya?" the guy asked.

"Tell 'im it's Brooke. He'll come," I said roughly. One of the guys was starting to walk towards me. Bullet barked in my arms, trying to wiggle himself free.

"Brooke?" my brother's voice came over the receiver.

"Dallas," I said, my voice hitching. "Can you come…uh…pick me up?"

"Where are you?" I let out a small sigh. Dallas's tone could change in a heartbeat. If I was sure of anything those days, it was that my brother always tried to have my best interests at heart. And that was saying something.

Before I could say anything, I felt an arm slink around my waist. I growled and turned around, nearly punching the kid in the face.

"Back off," I growled. Bullet was now at my feet, trying to bite the guy's ankles.

"Make me," he purred.

A train whistle was sure to give away where I was. I let the phone go long enough to pick up Bullet and pull my blade from my pocket. The guy didn't seem fazed.

"You won't use that," he purred, taunting me.

"Try me," I growled, backing myself into a corner. Probably not my brightest idea.

He reached for me at the same time that Bullet launched himself from my arms. His teeth connected with the kid's face, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. I used the distraction to my advantage and took off running, Bullet at my heels. I didn't stop until we rounded a corner, where I ducked between two cars, gasping for air.

"So much for being different," I muttered darkly.


End file.
